


Stuck

by ZeeBirdy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Confessions, Cute Ending, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings Realization, Gen, HankCon Big Bang 2019, Happy Ending, Hiding, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Relationship, References to Depression, Repression, Sloppy Makeouts, Trapped In A Closet, Triggers, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 19:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeeBirdy/pseuds/ZeeBirdy
Summary: Connor and Hank are both willing to do everything for their mission, but maybe their intentions are more complicated than what meets the eye. When they end up stuck in a utility closet together, they realise a lot that they'd been repressing from even eachother...





	Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @crusty_satan on Instagram for the wonderful art of Hank and Connor to go along with this fic (adding link as soon as they post!). It was wonderful to work on this 💖

Hank's no stranger to risking his life for his job. However, only a handful of times has he ever felt particularly grateful to survive. Unsurprisingly, the number increased after the _ accident_, when he became more susceptible to risk taking and danger. Being in his 50s meant he had everyone's unspoken blessing to take it easy, but that just wasn't how Hank worked. Sure, if he called in sick and sat on his ass all day, that's one thing, but being forced into submission just made him feel useless. 

And that was Hank's problem. He felt committed to prove himself, even when he knew pushing himself too much was going to damage him further. That's how even if the night before Hank’s been laid out on his kitchen floor with a bottle of booze and his trusty revolver, he'd be in the thick of action the next day for the sake of his livelihood and team. Hank's life meant nothing, but if he lost it for the sake of heroism at least he could find redemption in the afterlife.

Of course, things are different now. Fast forward to post-android-revolution and Hank's found a reason to lock away his revolver in his garage safe. Rather than chase the risk of danger, he does the noble thing and sticks by his friends, makes the effort to live alongside them in the present. Sure, some nights there may be haunting voices telling him to give up, go back to old habits, but there’s a voice much louder now to overpower it…

Connor’s. 

With nowhere to go, Hank took Connor in under his wing and gave him a place to stay. It was admittedly as much for himself as it was for the android, but after everything died down and armed forces were no longer gunning down androids, Connor was left with nothing but the confusion of being a deviant and the conflict of his old system coding and recoding pointless missions he couldn’t follow. No more Cyberlife to follow, no more internal catch-ups with dear old Amanda, and for a while the fear he no longer had Hank.

“_ I’ll miss you, Hank. I... _ ” He choked on his own words as he held tighter to Hank that day outside the Chicken Feed. “ _ I don’t want to say goodbye. _”

Though his pride didn’t allow him to admit it outloud, Hank couldn’t deny that he felt the same. So taking into consideration that actions speak louder than words, he screamed into the abyss on that fateful snowy day with an invitation for Connor to live with him. Watching the android’s eyes light up in such a way was spectacular, and up until that point Hank had never heard Connor laugh.

It became one of his favourite sounds.

Mornings when he caught him and Sumo playing, when Connor watched old DVD’s Hank had of shows he used to love, flipping through Hank’s photo albums - Connor’s laugh, so boisterous and alive, it made Hank’s heart do summersaults. 

He tries to ignore those feelings. He refuses to give them attention or a name, and pretends it's a figment of his imagination. Whatever it is, the admiration that comes along with Connor's company, he doesn't want it to define Connor's deviancy. Let the kid figure things out for himself, no intervening...

So Hank finally found his new purpose. His reason to live being to aid Connor in finding the humanity rooted deep in his subconscious, way beyond the realms of Cyberlife’s programming. Connor was thankfully accepted to stay apart of the DPD alongside Hank. Almost together 24/7, Hank had front row seats to the show of Connor’s ever developing deviancy, and through that he learned what kind of man Connor was without his missions. 

Connor was a kind and caring person, compassionate toward vulnerable living beings, but strict all the same when it came to his work. Where Hank may see the best in people, Connor focused more on the surface than what may be beneath. Connor was strategic, but Hank was empathetic. Where Connor would be willing to break a perps arm to keep him from reaching for a gun, Hank swayed more toward persuasion. Their styles could differ greatly, but when the day was over and they returned home, Connor took note of every detail to shape his views of humanity, and more importantly, Lieutenant Anderson.

Then Fowler gave them the Jackson’s case.

Lilliath Jackson is a 7 year old girl, daughter of eccentric entrepreneur Kevin Jackson and third wife Jill Jackson. She’d made a name for herself as an active protester for animal rights and held a rather considerable online following even for someone of her age. She’d also spoken out for laws regarding android children to be able to age up and transfer their subconsciousness into suitably older models when required. She’d met Markus to help him with presenting such laws and aided in his argument. Lilliath is a remarkable kid of her generation; miles ahead of many others.

There are countless low life people in the world that would kidnap any kid, let alone one with such notoriety. The first thing Hank thought when they examined the briefing was someone protesting android rights took her as a means to stunt their growth. Connor theorised it was the second ex wife of Kevin Jackson getting revenge for her husband's infidelity and taking away the family she thought she deserved. Gavin even chimed in that he thought it was an android, planning to later “find her” and reap the benefits of being a hero. He even thought Lilliath was in on the act herself, scheming the heroism of such a powerful child would help everyone involved. That was the weakest argument, but they tried to find links nevertheless. 

It was a frustrating case…

Right now Connor is sat at his and Hank’s work desk, flittering through the dozens of files they’ve been studying like overworked college kids for weeks now. He’s hoping to see something invisible to the naked eye - a sign to where Lilliath may be. Every week that went by made both himself and Hank more tense, worrying the worst may have happened. Working under those pressures made things harder - or that’s how Connor feels. 

He feels dizzy, now riddled with dozens of temporary emotions falling in and out at rapid speeds. Before deviating when they had cases, everything was so linear. He could see the lines to predicting events, he knew the likelihood of survival, success, failure, and none of it mattered past achievement to Cyberlife’s satisfaction. When he shot Daniel to save the life of a little girl, he didn’t care about what might be happening in Daniel’s A.I. Really, he didn’t care about the young girl’s life either, whether it mattered that she live or die. His priority was succeeding his mission set by Cyberlife, and being sure to prove his usefulness as the newest prototype. RK800 was the only identity that mattered to him - Connor was merely a means for relatability, the psychological disguise to befriend humans and deviants into trusting him. Now it is him, and figuring out who he is while still keeping up with his duties as a detective felt hard. He could never fully explain to Hank how much his deviancy plagued him, or how often he caught himself in a mental loop trying to decipher what is real and what isn’t. For Connor, the idea of his emotions impacting his ability to be a good detective terrifies him, and even worse is the idea of failing Hank.

He looks up to Hank more than anyone. Hank gives him feelings he can't explain, but he welcomes with open arms. The way Hank's laugh sounds like everything is dirty. The way he fumbles around with things on his desk like a gorilla learning how to use objects. The way he always tries to show people kindness even when they're cruel, holding his tongue to do his job. Connor loves his company more than anything, and with how much kindness he's shown him, the least Connor can do is take away his stress and solve the case like he was programmed to do.

Connor thinks it’s the ex wife. He’s almost positive. He tries not to focus too much on the numbers that trickle throughout his mind’s eye, but they do stand in his favour. He wants to practice the art of “intuition”. Hank doesn’t walk into things blindly, but he does have a tendency to follow instincts. Connor didn’t know what that meant, how to tell if what he thinks is because of his coding working out the probability rates, or if he’s actually thinking something instinctively. He believes the theory that the ex wife took Lillath to be the most likely, but how does he know he thinks so because of feeling or because his A.I. is so intelligent it’s allowing him to believe he has independent thought? 

The importance of Lillath Jackson became the plague of the whole station, too. Her father’s applying more pressure on them to track down her whereabouts everyday, leaving Fowler to come down hard on Hank every minute she’s not found. Hank’s already grey hair turns whiter everyday. Hank’s way of coping is junk food, which of course meant an increase to his weight, resulting in ill-fitting clothes and frustration. Connor’s just grateful he’s no longer relying on alcohol anymore. The point however is that with no progress on the case, the sanity of every officer at the DPD got thinner and thinner by the second. 

This results in guilt. He was built to assist the DPD, to make their job easier. No emotions made everything easy, but now he has a filter to run things through, muddying the figures. He picks up the files and analyses the evidence they've collected so far. A hum from Connor's computer fills the room. The screen halos him like a tired angel. Lilith’s face becomes all too familiar to him, like he’s being haunted. Her soft face covered in freckles, her coarse hair thick like yarn, the eyes that burned deep with every shade the ocean offers - Connor just wants to see her face to face, feel resolved from this torturous hellscape he finds himself in.

He wants more than anything to impress Hank and make him happy.

In the midst of his investigating, he hears footsteps in the distance, getting louder the closer they get. He looks round and sees Hank walking with an urgent skip in his step, breath heavy in his throat. Connor stands to attention and catches the Lieutenant as he grabs Connor’s arm haistaly. 

“We have to go, now!” Hank demands, tugging on Connor to follow. However his urgency is replaced with aggravation when the android does nothing but stand completely still, staring at him. “Did you hear me, kid? If you’re having a malfunction now of all times I’m going to be pi-”

“What is the alarm, Lieutenant? I’m trying to look into the Jackson case for any possible clues for her whereabouts.”

The sentence takes a second to register. He’s about to interject but stops himself, blinking rapidly as if to solidify what Conor just said, then grabbing his arm again and this time succeeding in moving him. “We’ve got a lead-- she’s been seen downtown in an old warehouse facility!”

That kick starts Connor’s urgency. His legs pick up speed like there’s boosters in his limbs and he gallops out the station well ahead of Hank, frantically clambering into his beat up car parked straight outside. Hank stumbles as if a gust of wind had tried to knock him over, but easily catches himself and hastily starts the car.

"Should we call backup--?"

"No time. If Lilith is still in trouble, we need to get to her now!" Hank's eyes are glued tight to the road. His focus so intense it's almost like he sees the whole route from a bird's eye view. Connor worries. His focus is on that of Hank's well-being, his ability to withstand danger - or _bullets_.

"Hank, we need a plan." Connor says with an unwavering authority to his tone. Hank doesn't argue. He grunts and hands Connor his phone.

"Fine, I know who to call..."

-

The building seems to shudder in the wind and sway as the rain attacks it. Hank and Connor are fast on their feet out of the car and rush to take shelter under the door entrance. It’s not completely abandoned. On the ride over they make some calls to get further information, and find the place now inhabits back alley gamblers mostly and selling fraudulent “goods”. Knowing the kind of place they’re about to enter, Hank makes a call to a friend to help them get in without detection. It’s a risk he knows Fowler will chew him out for, but Lillith’s life possibly hangs on the line.

Pedro is in less of a rush to get out of the rain, much to Hank and Connor’s dismay. He’s smug in fact, giddy to get a ride along on the action, as if he’s an integral part of their duty. Sure, without him the operation may be messier, but it’s not impossible to catch their guy without going undercover.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t disguise Connor? He sticks out like a sore thumb in that damn jacket.” Hank says, eyeing the signature Cyberlife jacket up and down. Pedro laughs.

“Nah, man. If anyone asks, we say he’s not deviated. The price for an android undeviated is damn good, and wearing that jacket is like proof he’s still brainwashed to obey, ya know?”

“I guess...I have a hoodie and beanie in the trunk though just to be safe."

"Pssh, relax! These things can be replaced anyway, who cares-"

"Hay!" Hank glares at him and tightens his fists at his side. Connor watches how his knuckles flex. Pedro raises a brow and slowly sinks into the ground. Hank's stance says enough.

“If one’a these guys finds out we’re hiding that freakin’ blinker on his temple, you're as good as dead. Just trust me here.” Pedro flicks out the collar of his jacket and shimmies his shoulders. He opens the door and nonchalauntly walks through. Hank puts his hand on Connor’s back and walks beside him carefully.

"Hank?" Connor says under his breath. Hank looks at him. "Thanks, for defending me with Pedro."

"Oh, right...yeah, no problem." Hank hopes the blush he feels isn't too obvious on his face.

Hank makes a deliberate effort not to drag his feet as he walks through the old factory building. Every daunting step is like stepping into a whole other world. Hank would find more home venturing onto a set of old train tracks, following wherever the wind blows. It's heaven sent for a figure of mysteriously devilish intent, but not an emotionally aloof lieutenant and his nervous android partner. 

It’s not ransacked with people, but the few that reside seem displeased by new faces. Thankfully displeased in the laziest fashion, and not suspicious or aggravated. People look at Connor the way many used to- the way _ Hank _used to. Remembering that glare he was first greeted with makes Connor’s chest seize up. He tries to look vacant, as unbothered and void as he was the day Cyberlife first switched him on. Shamefully he finds it rather difficult. Hank’s hand protectively placed on the small of his back has him near squirming, embarrassed of the eyes around that are witness to the intimacy when he’s feeling so vulnerable.

A soft red light catches Hank’s attention and he swallows down the concern that lurches up from his stomach. “Con, you ‘kay?” He whispers. Connor looks at him blankly. Hank taps his own temple softly. “LED?”

“Oh,” Connor feels his internal wires twist from the embarrassment. He does his best to settle his nerves.

Connor doesn’t like the fact that Hank knows people like Pedro, much less enjoys their company. He finds it very telling that a man like him who participates in illegal gambling would know the details within hush hush crime circle. His systems go off the charts as he gets readings left, right and centre - cocaine distribution between a group of 20 somethings, gun trading with someone who’s missing their right ear, and general gatherings whispering between one another, evil glares and wicked tales spinning off the end of their tongues. Connor knows if he questions Pedro about why he knows this place, he’ll lose their one ticket inside, but it sits uneasy with him.

Pedro knows some of the people that reside inside the warehouse. As they approach they all ask who Connor and Hank are, with no suspicion in their voices. Surprise is more accurate. Surprise to see new faces.

“Got one of these tin cans to sell.”

“Deviant?” The stranger asks in response to Hank, scratching his beard. Hank scoffs.

“Fuck no. Pre-deviancy. Prototype no less.”

Every time they’re stopped the conversation goes the same with few variables. And every time it works.

Connor hates how he’s spoken about. He hates how he’s looked at…

But he loves how Hank smiles at him afterwards, apologetic and soft, with a special glimmer in his eyes he’s plucked from the stars above especially for Connor.

They walk up through a door at the back of the building and climb a flight of stairs to the next floor. There’s four more levels above them.

“My guess if your kid’s here she’ll be in the maintenance room.” Pedro looks over his shoulder for a mere second to catch Hank’s eyes before nodding in someone’s direction and meeting their high five. They keep walking. Pedro maintains a cool, relaxed grin. “Few weeks back some big guy nabbed his daughter from his ex and hid her there.”

“You don’t report shit like that to the cops?” Hank whispers with an annoyed grunt. Pedro insults his question with a laugh.

“I’ve no problems with guys like you, Hank, but me and cops don’t exactly go hand in hand. No matter if I’m good or bad, I avoid them like a plague.”

Hank wants to bite back with a smart reply, but admittedly he can’t fault Pedro’s line of thinking. Instead he keeps his mouth shut and observes the scene around him. Most windows are cracked or boarded up, with mould growing along the frame. He feels about 70 tonnes walking through the hall, every step he takes making the wooden slabs beneath him squeak ungodly. He tries not to let it show on his face, but the sound makes his nerves tense. He’s put himself and Connor in an insanely dangerous position by being here with no backup, and one wrong move could result in death let alone failure. Almost everyone who inhabits the factory have wicked intentions, he can’t say whether they all carry through with those thoughts the same way they carry a gun.

If anything happens to Connor...Hank will never be able to forgive himself. Connor’s life has only just begun.

Hank glances over at Connor and watches how he studies their surroundings. His quiet, focused expression ages him like the crisp pages of the first testament. His eyes are wide but uninviting, and his LED though thankfully stays on blue, whirls nonetheless like a gentle tide on a Spanish beach. He can see how the electricity that flows through his wires toil to keep his calm - if there’s anyone that can read Connor front to back, it’s Hank. They're not there, but he can see clear as day the sun spots trying to seep through, bleed yellow or red.

The hallway seems to never end either. Pillars that hold the structure creak without touch, it’s haunting. When they’re a few doors short of the maintenance room, Pedro hears someone call his name. He grunts and gives Hank a warnful look, turning to greet the stranger.

Hank looks to Connor. They meet eyes but stay deadly silent. No expression, but it's clear they're both petrified for the others safety.

No one actually comes out. It's as little as a hand beckoning him but Pedro follows orders like an obedient dog. He points to the door Hank needs. Hank wants to argue back but knows it could blow his cover. He has to stay nonchalant - he's one of Pedro's "shady friends", not a cop looking to bust the place for kidnapping a child! He does the smart thing to avoid a fight and nods. There’s no promise of when Pedro will be back, no agreement on a code for danger. Just hope they’ll know. 

Pedro disappears into one of the rooms with ominously labelled doors, and Hank doesn’t miss a beat to keep moving. He picks up the speed in his walk and opens the door to the maintenance room in a haste, glad no one is loitering to see them.

Stepping inside they both immediately straighten up and let their eyes cast over the sheer expanse of the space. What they assumed would be more of a box convenient for someone an electrician or janitor to pick up their tools, the room serves more as a warehouse for products and mass supplies. Most of the shelves and hand truck trolleys are empty, but some miscellaneous weapons, bags and objects take up the space to give purpose. The walls unlike the dusty red they’ve seen so far are a fuzzy blue, with the floor a couple shades darker. Hank whistles quietly but his tune carries through the eerie space like a sailor's song and echoes off the old walls.

“Well...this is--”

“If she was here we would be able to see her already.” Connor cuts Hank off as he storms off around the room. He rushes around every obstruction that blocks his line of sight, opening cabinets and a small closet that holds cleaning utensils. Under any nook and cranny a child may fit, but nothing. 

Hank looks the same, round the cabinets or underneath the one desk in the room. His attention however is drawn more so to some of the random objects within the room. He swipes his finger over one particular shelf, picking up the dust and flicking it off between his thumb and forefinger, and stares quizzically at a cardboard box sat on its own. No label, no distinguishable markings, just a box. He frowns, and with his curiosity peaked, he picks up the box and opens it up. 

His anger is instantaneous. He reaches in and pulls out the clear baggie to inspect against the dull lighting from the rooms lightbulb, and grinds his teeth together. _ Red Ice _.

“Sons’a bitches,” he quickly snaps a photo of the drugs with his phone, makes sure he's got proof to show the guys back at the DPD, and tosses the evidence haphazardly back on the shelf. If Lilith turns up it’ll be a blessing, but Hank’s taking down the whole place regardless now. He turns around to find Connor snooping through the desk’s drawers. “Looked everywhere?”

“She’s not here.” Connor replies without looking up.

"Do you think she's even in the building?"

Connor pauses to think. "What was the tip you received exactly?"

"Lilith Jackson was seen entering the old pharmaceutical warehouse a couple blocks down from the station. Was one of the guys Jimmy knows in the bar, left a message." Connor wrinkles his nose. "What?" Hank asks.

"Well," Connor fluffs his hair and straightens his jacket. "Perhaps the person was inebriated when they told Jimmy? Did you ask what sort of state they were in?"

Hank's quiet.

It dawns on him Connor may be right.

"I rushed us into a dangerous gang house that holds violent psychopaths."

Connor awkwardly plays with his hands. "Quite possibly..." He can feel the embarrassment come off Hank like a slap to the face.

“_Fuck._ Alright, we should--” Hank’s cut off by the sound of Pedro’s voice in the distant, shouting after someone. Playful, but alert, and nervous. There’s mumbling along with a collection of loud footsteps matching in their direction, and then the distinct sound of what Hank thinks is a gun cocking.

His heart clenches in his chest.

_Connor._

_**Keep Connor safe**_.

“Shit…” His instinct take over. He’s moving before he even realises. “Quick, Con, somebody’s coming!” He grabs Connor as he scrambles through the desk and shoves him in the closet adjacent to the room’s entrance. The space is compact, just about taking the slender android let alone bulking, broad Hank too. He grabs the door handle.

“Wait, Hank, this closet is too--!”

The door clicks behind Hank with an ominous thunk. Hank’s full body weight is pressed up against Connor with no room between them for even courtesy. The two inhale deep and stare wide eyed at the other, shocked. Hank’s cheeks turn pink. Connor’s turn blue.

“S-small…”

They're so close together. Every pore on Hank's face is clear as day. Every flickering spec of electrical currents burns bright against Connor's eyes. The room itself is incredibly dim, par the light from beneath the door and Connor's sunny yellow LED.

It's quiet. The soft murmurs of those approaching comes too close for comfort but stalls before the maintenance room's door. Just talking. Lots of intangible, indistinguishable talking in low, hushed tones. Connor and Hank are left with just the uncertainty and the heavy beating of Hank's heart hammering like rabbit's feet. His breath hangs in the back of his throat. Connor can almost taste the uncertainty- the fear that comes from good intentioned mistakes.

Hank’s breath is warm against Connor’s skin. He can read the exact temperature. It's very infrequent, too, nor consistent like it should be. Obviously he's holding it in, the ghostly winds of his own lungs too loud to anticipate danger. Connor tucks his head down against his chest and closes his eyes.

He's never been so close to Hank before other than the Chicken Feed. Their hug. The moment that sealed his relationship with Hank forever more. He remembers how warm Hank's body felt against his, despite the chill of the snow freezing the air. He remembers how strong his arms were, how they felt wrapped around his body. When Connor rested his head on Hank's broad shoulder, he remembers the feeling of acceptance and familiarity. When his brain was racing with a million worries and fears, with the uncertainty of his future, he felt a rush of calmness pour over him just from Hank's kind exchange of friendship.

They were so close-- _ touching _ one another, and Connor's always wished for that moment again. He doesn't want to be starved of affection again.

He's already so hungry for affection. He's been waiting for the opportunity to regain their bond again, and the longer he waits the more his thoughts run away from him. Why does he long for Hank's embrace again? Why does Hank's opinion come before anyone else's, ever? Why is it when he has free will to roam the world and pursue adventure any which way the wind takes him does he always feel best on Hank's couch, in his company, day in day out? Even with the case, when it all boils down to it, Connor's motivations and feelings of stress come from unexplainable insecurities he has toward his relationship with Hank. Why?

It's something he can't figure out. There's no answers out there he can find to explain it.

But now he's pressed up against Hank again, and the thunder of his heartbeat rings through his ears. Hank's nervous, and Connor as a result empathises.

After a few more eerily quiet minutes, Hank exhales loudly covering a curse. "This was a stupid fucking idea." He says, gaining Connor's gaze again.

"We're doing what we think is best-"

"Risking our lives is not what was best." Hank grinds his teeth and grunts. He tries to toss his hair back but it stays in front of his eyes. He growls with more emphasis. "Stupid fuckin--"

"Lieutenant," Connor slowly reaches up to move the strand of hair out of his line of sight and tucks it behind his ear. He smiles, too charming and soft for Hank's current mood, but it's welcomed regardless. "We'll be okay, I promise."

Connor's fingers linger for just a second too long, and as he pulls away the tips of his fingers graze against Hank's warm cherry cheek, like a summer breeze. He reserves the urge to speak without thought, and runs a quick diagnosis against the electrical burn sparking in his abdomen.

Nothing's wrong with him. It's just his deviancy; his _ emotions _.

Next thing they know there's a loud bang in the distance but definitely _ within _ the building. They both assume it's a gun, but there's no certainty, especially without the ringing echo. Hank's instincts act quick again, and he grabs Connor's forearm, pushing up against him more. Connor stays completely still. 

"Oh shit…" Hank exhales heavily and loosens his hand on Connor. “Shit, _ shit _\-- okay, we’re just gonna wait it out, maybe they’ll leave soon and we can get out.”

“But there’s people in the entire building, how will we know when everyone leaves?”

“We won’t...but what other option is there right now?”

“I could go out there and--”

“It’s too risky, Connor, there’s no way I’m letting you out there!”

“Why not--?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you!” Hank tries not to raise his voice but he couldn’t help it. The notches on his whisper raise with his emotion, and he glares at Connor intensely. The room slowly turned yellow from the reflection of his LED. “Losing you is not worth the mission.”

Connor watches as Hank’s face slowly shifts. The fiery rage burning behind his cool blue eyes went out and what’s left was ash and pain. The grip on his jaw loosens, and he falls soft. He huffs. Connor stares at him with the utmost intensity and doesn’t dare turn away - too scared to miss something vital, something that will clear up the questions and clutter in his own head. Hank shifts awkwardly in the tight space, jolting Connor in the process, and sighs with a heavy heart. 

“We’ve probably already failed this damn thing anyway.” He eventually says under his breath. The quiet of his voice makes Connor wonder if the question was meant to have an answer of not, but he decides to fill the space anyway - his own instincts scream to relieve the older man of his weighted worries. 

“Lillith could still be here, Hank. Maybe Pedro is looking for her!”

Hank scoffs. “Very much doubtful, kid, but thanks for trying to pick me up.”

“It’s true...maybe.”

They’re quiet again. Hank crosses his arms and closes his eyes. Connor thinks maybe he’s about to drift asleep, but they he speaks again.

“I’m glad you don’t call me lieutenant as much.” He says. As Connor looks at him he sees the spot of one of his dimples. “You’re calling me Hank. It’s nice.”

Connor smiles. “I’m glad you allow me to call you Hank.”

“Well why the fuck wouldn’t I? It’s my name, right?”

“Of course, but some people prefer to be referred to by their job title. It’s a respect thing.”

“Sure, but we’re friends! I dunno, I always hated that authority shit. You ever catch me calling Fowler ‘Captain’?” Hank chuckles under his breath and raises a brow. “I knew that guy back in college when he’d get white girl wasted and dry hump street lamps. I won’t be caught dead calling him _ Captain _.” Then he thinks, and shrugs. “Unless I had to. Some low brow fucking racist walks in or something then I’ll have Jeff’s back - make a point. Had to do that once before.”

“Really?” Connor asks, and Hank seems shocked by his disbelief.

“You fucking bet! It’s a long story for another day, though, but the point is I’m not all about hierarchies or whatever.”

Connor ponders on Hank’s words and lets them really sink, and feels happy. There’s something about Hank’s abrasive kindness that makes him feel soothed. The initial shock of resistance and anger is just a front, and Connor feels safe with that, he feels homely.

He’s about to respond but is cut off by the door to the maintenance room opening and a number of footsteps tumbling through. The talking gets louder, the space gets smaller, and Hank presses up against Connor more as if to shield him. 

Silence between them. Shuffling behind Hank’s back. 

“_ Just grab the ice and go, Jesus fucking Christ. I pay you to deal so the least you could do is your fucking job! _” Follows with a chorus of half hearted laughter.

“_ What are we supposed to do with the kid? _”

Hank and Connor perk up like a pair of dogs being teased with a treat. They look at each other, hopeful.

“_ Just fucking keep her upstairs. If that bitch cares, she’ll be here before morning with the money. Otherwise I don’t give a fuck what happens to her! _” 

Hank mouths ‘fuck’ to Connor and his heart race increases dramatically.

Connor searches for something, anything, a crevice, a seal, but the walls are tight and bare with no clues as to how to escape clean cut of any danger. There only one door, right behind Hank pressed against his back. The blackness is almost absolute, but their toilsome eyes work to halo the other like an angel in disguise. It feels like a prison, a perfect cube, with corners just reachable if either extend their arms like a starfish. 

They're trapped.

"I'm going to try to look through the keyhole, Lieutenant."

"Wha-what?! Connor you're--" he coughs, lowering his voice when he realises he's being louder than reasonable. "You're the other side! There's barely any room to breathe let alone move!"

"I'll just have to shimmy around you." His smile lifts his whole face, so hopeful and determined. "If you could just breathe in momentarily. Your abdomen seems to be the biggest obstacle at the moment stalling my movement-"

"Yeah okay, I get it, I'm fat!"

"What, no, that's not-"

"Just, shut up." Hank sucks in as much as possible and holds his belly with his hands, looking up at the ceiling. Connor takes it as his turn to move. 

He softly rests his hands on Hank’s hips and starts side stepping around him, unable to get any space between them the whole time. Hank rolls his eyes, clearly frustrated, but Connor keeps moving. When he’s completely around Hank he crouches down and looks through the keyhole. The awkward shape and cutting makes it difficult to really see anything but it’s enough for him to see a large hand with gold rings and tattoos all over his fingers up close, and a slightly distorted figure cradling packages out of the room. He squints, trying to see more…

Hank hits him playfully on the back and asks, “Anything?” Connor whips round and glares at him.

“Nothing much.” He whispers through his teeth and turns back around. He sees no one now. “I think they’ve all left.”

“So it’s safe to leave?”

“Yes, I believe--”

_ “What about this box?” _A loud, bassy voice strikes the fear of God into them both and they cease any talking.

Connor crouches against the walls taking in shallow breaths, careful not to make too much sound. He looks up at Hank, seeing the fear and irritation still ingrained in his expression. After a few minutes Hank hums.

"How alike are you and Richard?"

Connor stares at Hank from his kneel and shrugs. "Almost identical. He was made to replace me so anything I was built with he'll have."

"Think you can send him one of your brain messages?”

Connor blinks rapidly. An amused smile lifts on his face. “A...a brain message, Hank?”

Hank doesn’t see the joke Connor’s found. “Yeah like, the telekinesis shit you androids can do? Get him to send a team, some squad cars!”

Connor’s trying not to laugh. “Firstly, I think what you mean to say is telepathy, and secondly that’s not what we possess. It’s almost identical to the technology you have in your mobile phone and the process of sending a text--”

“Then send him a fucking brain text, Jesus! Make me feel like an idiot-- I’m trying to get us the fuck out of here alive!”

Connor rolls his eyes and laughs under his breath while he begins to send Richard the message for help.

Some time passes before he hears back. Richard is all serious - says he’s called Fowler, he’s got a team and he’s on his way with Tina, Gavin and Chris. Also says that Fowler is noticeably upset, but the mention of Lillith has given him tunnel vision so it may be easy enough to calm him once she is recovered safe and sound. Hank’s happy to hear that.

“I’m used to Jeff’s yelling anyway, but least he’ll go easy.”

“Perhaps.” Connor purses his lips and takes a sharp u-turn on the conversation, looking down between him and Hank. “May I ask you a personal question about your past family life?”

“Wha--” Hank splutters on a cough and wheezes. He takes a minute to find his footing on the sudden curiosity, and sighs. “Where’d that come from?”

“I’ve been curious about some things in your past as well as my development through deviancy. I never know when to bring them up with you because you’re quite closed off. I like to know about you, but I always feel kind of scared to bring things up.”

What comes next is unexpected. Hank’s rough and guarded figure drops and the expression that replaces it is one of hurt. His brows knit close together and a small exhale comes out like he’s being choked. Connor feels a knot building in his chest just at the idea of hurting Hank, let alone seeing it. 

“Con...you never have to be scared of me. I would never hurt you.”

His voice...the knot in Connor tightens.

“I believe you, Hank. I know you would never physically harm me. That’s not...I don’t think that’s the type of fear this is.” He frowns as he flicks through the different thoughts suddenly bombarding him, trying to piece it all together in a second. “Do you see me as a surrogate son?”

The silence is deafening. Hank’s face doesn’t flicker or twitch, and his presence suddenly consumes every inch of space, absorbing Connor too. He’s unreadable even with Connor’s advanced technology. He can see the slight pick up in Hank’s heartbeat, but he can’t see the scars and cracks spreading, and he can’t see the pain that stabs his gut just at the mention of fatherhood. Connor feels about as weak as a gazelle with a lion bearing over it.

“No.” Hank replies, firmly. “I care about you deeply, Connor, but I have never viewed you as a son. I lost my son, and there’s no replacing him.”

“No, I know-- I wasn’t saying that, I promise!”

“I don’t like talking about him, because it still hurts, and...I don’t want to put that pain on another dad.” Hank’s eyes start to get glassy, and Connor’s LED turns red. “Being a parent without a child is a fate worse than fucking death.”

“Ha-Hank...is that why you’ve been working so hard on this case?”

Quiet. Then, “Yes.” He leans on the wall behind him and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, anything involving a missing kid is serious, I’d never slack no matter my personal issues, but if I fail at getting her safe and sound, that’s another fucking body on my conscious, and _ fuck _ I don’t think I’d survive this time round, you know?”

The tension between them starts to get heavy, and even heated. They may as well be trapped in a sauna. Connor’s LED regains some sun and slowly turns back to a reflective yellow, and he against the pressure of his thirium pump he reaches out for Hank’s hand to hold. He closes the contact with his other hand and sandwiches Hank’s hold. His skin slowly retracts back to reveal the silvery-white matte of his android body, and though it’s impossible, Connor feels a moment of clarity similar to interfacing. His senses give him a high he hasn’t known in a long time - the rush of euphoria is like a calm he once got walking through his garden. It’s like when Amanda wasn’t an enemy, but a friend. 

The questions never had answers because he's been waiting for someone to guide him. They're never coming. All those times Amanda asks how he feels, what he wants - his relationship with Lieutenant Anderson, it's why Connor's been ignoring it for so long. He's been trying to regain an old version of himself when it no longer fits. Now he realises he has his own voice, his own identity, and that’s okay. No clarity isn’t a bad thing, because it’s not infinite.

And Hank...his relationship with Lieutenant Anderson - it's not what it used to be. It's so much more, and now he sees it; he feels it. Hank's a good man, and deserves to know it too.

_Maybe he needs a voice of his own._

He squeezes Hank’s hand. A soft smile raises his face and he sighs contently. “Hank, it’s not your fault what happened to Cole-”

“I know deep down, but--”

“Please, let me finish.”

Hank goes to speak, but stops himself. 

“What happened was an unfortunate circumstance, and should have never happened. You don’t deserve what happened to you. But if anything happened here, it’s not your burden to bare, and at the very least, not alone. I...I’ve been feeling this immense pressure to do better and go above and beyond like I did when I was first activated, but I can’t do that anymore. I still want to be the best for you and the whole team, but I’m starting to realise that my intentions are different, and it’s okay to admit I’m not a machine anymore and ask for help.” He moves his hand to interlace his fingers with Hank’s and takes the other hand to hold both. Hank’s eyes go wide but he stares at Connor completely engulfed by his presence. A soft blue glow surrounds them, and the world becomes victim to white noise. 

“I...what do you mean? What are your intentions?”

“You’re not a machine either, Hank.” He says, ignoring Hank’s question. “You can’t be the hero for everyone. It’s okay to ask for help.” He daringly steps an inch closer to Hank. Their faces are mere centimeters apart from each other, and the tension is obvious - it’s screaming at them both, begging for release. _ And it’s always been there _.

“Connor…” Hank’s voice is breathy; it’s gorgeous. Connor bites his lip.

“We’re not disposable. We don’t need to risk our lives every time and risk our sanity because we feel guilty. I want to do this job with you, not for you, and I don’t want it all to end so soon...not yet…because, I think I might be developing feelings for you. Romantic feelings. I think I’ve had them for a long time but I didn’t know what they were or how to address them-- if they even existed. But right now, being so close to you again,” he takes another step, their bodies now against one anothers. “And being afraid of the danger out there, I know I have feelings for you, and I want to know if you feel the same about me. Am I just the company you’ve been yearning for for years now, that you used to have and define yourself by, or am I the company you crave despite anyone else who could take my place?”

It’s done. He’d figured it out, in the space of a few seconds with mindless rambling! Connor finally knows what’s been tying him up in knots, and he’s made his big declaration of love, the grand speech he didn’t know was being rehearsed somewhere deep inside his processors and motherboard, and now…

All there is is quiet. Hank stares back at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates, his mouth hanging, and Connor feels like he’s about to throw up (or, that’s what his brain associates the feeling as - it’s what he wishes he could do anyway, dispose of all the toxic, soul consuming truths plaguing him). The tight silence lay on his skin like acid. It seeps into his thirium and paralyzes all his better senses. All he has now is the face of awkwardness, not even hurrying to save his feelings or settle the anxiety. It’s just a void, filled with potential cheesy non-comital statements of appreciation he’s seen in Hank’s old movies. He’s preparing for the dismissal, the uninterest, but has to endure nothing but the dizzy silence. The void is a cruelty he’s inflicting unintentionally.

Connor wants to take it all back.

His hands twitch. “I...I’m sorry, lieutenant.” He pulls back his hands. “I didn’t mean to--”

But then Hank grabs him by his jacket collar and pulls him in abruptly, crashing his lips against Connors, and he kisses the overly emotional android like he’s never kissed anyone before. It’s rushed, and hard, and he makes sure everything he wants to say is laced in the motions. He holds Connor against him and presses him against the door, and slowly begins to soften when Connor’s hands move to his hips. Hank’s lips are plush, and chapped, and he’s a bit of a mess when it comes to Connor’s references of old Hollywood movies, but it’s also flawfully perfect. It’s all so Hank.

And he keeps kissing him. He presses his broad body up against Connor and slowly slips his tongue in his mouth, and a strangled moan escapes his body like it’s been desperate to release for an eternity. Connor digs his fingers into Hank’s love handles and encourages his rush, his embrace. He wants to feel this euphoric and wonderful forever. He wants Hank _ forever._

_"_Con?" Hank moans, his voice wrecked, his lungs tirelessly pumping to keep him from going light headed. His lips don't stop.

"Yeah?" Connor sounds too human for a second; breathless and giddy. He opens his eyes and sees Hank's lidded, lustful stare baring down in him. A shiver goes up the wires in his spine.

"I like you too...a whole fucking lot." And then just like that he's back on Connor like a hot rash.

However, what they didn’t count on is for the closet’s door to be pulled open and for them to both fall over in a heap on top of one another. Hank swears loudly, rolling off Connor and looking up. His face drops to a mortified look, and when Connor looks to see who it is, he’s happy to see his android brother staring at him completed with his signature stoic expression. His clothes are shiny from the rain, almost reflective like metal, and his hair though glossy stays completely styled to perfection as per usual. Behind him is Tina, smirking at them both. Hank groans. 

“We’ve apprehended the criminals as well as the victim. She’s downstairs with Captain Fowler right now. Lieutenant Anderson, there’s an irritated man downstairs with Officer Miller who insists he’s not apart of this mob but rather is an associate of yours. Would you be so kind as to confirm whether this is true?” 

The sounds of police sirens, distance voices talking over one another, and rushed feet stomping all around them - they all flood in. Hank and Connor somehow tuned out the world around them in their moment of passion, too focused on what they'd ignored for too long.

Hank looks over at Connor for a second, red faced and embarrassed, and smiles before jumping up and rushing to Pedro’s aid. Connor stands and dusts himself off, watching as Hank straightens up his jacket in his rush down the halls. When he turns back to face Richard, he doesn’t realise the dopey grin plastered to his face. Tina laughs.

“Not only did you bag yourself the Lieutenant, but you were right about it being the ex-wife. She arrived just before we did! Congratulations Connor.” She slips her gun back into her holster and begins walking away. Connor turns back to Richard in delighted shock. Richard rolls his eyes.

“Yes, well done, Connor.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed - here's to my first SFW post 😉
> 
> \- Zee.


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